SCHILLER IN DRESDEN.
“That is false, I say; false!” cried Schiller, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, as he walked to and fro in his little room. “It is all slander, vile slander!”
The two friends, the young councillor of the consistory, Körner, and the bookseller, Göschen, stood together in the window recess, gazing sadly and sympathetically at the poet, who rushed to and fro, almost breathless with rage, hurling an angry glance at his friends, whenever he approached them.
Suddenly he stopped, and fastened his gaze on them, intently. “Why do you not reply?” asked he, in loud and wrathful tones. “Why do you allow me to accuse you both of a falsehood, without even attempting to justify yourselves?”
“Because we wish to give your just anger time to expend itself,” said Körner, in his soft, mild voice. “To our own great sorrow we have been compelled to wound our friend’s feelings, and it is quite natural that this wound should smart.”
“And we do not justify ourselves against these reproaches, because they do not apply to us,” added Göschen, “and because they are only the utterance of your just indignation. Believe me, my friend, we would gladly have spared you this hour, but our friendship was greater than our pity.”
“Yes, yes, the old story,” cried Schiller, with mocking laughter. “Out of friendship, you are pitiless; out of friendship you give the death-blow to my heart! And what the most cruel enemy would hardly have the courage to whisper in my ear, merciful friendship boldly declares!”
SCHILLER.